


Working Out the Kinks (Abandoned)

by inhiseyes



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Canon Related, F/M, Outpost 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inhiseyes/pseuds/inhiseyes
Summary: Michael Langdon understands the connection two lonely people can form - and he's about to make you understand that too.





	1. Exposition

Here at the outpost, there isn’t much to do. We have cocktail time, we eat, and if it’s your turn you go get interviewed. You can try to listen to the never-ending repeat monstrosity that plays in the main room if you can handle it without your head exploding. I guess if anyone  _ really _ felt like it, they could go find a book from the library, but most of the works are in Latin anyway. Nobody here has the drive to learn the language - although, we’ve all certainly got the  _ time. _

But that’s where the list ends.

I didn’t bring much with me to the outpost. One book, a music box, some clothing items - that I’m not even allowed to wear - and a camera with a very limited amount of film. I think of my small bag where they all still reside. I have yet to touch any of them since coming to the outpost. I think a small part of me fears that they may turn to ash, just like everything else from the old world.

As I think, I move my fingers around in the dust on top of the table I’m laying across. It’s one of the gorgeous mahogany tables in the library. The room is useless except for one thing - it’s quiet. Lonely, too, but it’s just as lonely as the dining room will be at the end of the day. No one  _ likes _ me here. Money may have bought me my life, but it would never buy the kindness and acceptance of my fellow survivors.

Most days in here, I dream of the places I once knew - the world had been so beautiful. The towering skyscrapers of New York - the brilliantly natural rainforests of South America - the deep blue water out in the middle of nowhere - places we hadn’t even fully explored yet. But most importantly, the world was beautiful because it was a world where I had known love to exist. This “new beginning” is devoid of consideration and compassion in comparison.

Humanity, as a race, may as well end - the benevolence we’re known for already has. As far as we know, we’re the only outpost left anyway. Not even a handful of the whole species remains, and we don’t even know for sure if there is  _ anything _ besides us.

I stop my daydreaming upon feeling something hit my leg. I shoot up, opening my eyes to find Venable returning her cane to the floor. She scowls at me. “We’ve been trying to find you for ages. Langdon requests you for an interview.”

I nod. I won’t fight with Venable. She doesn’t like anyone, but she tolerates me for my obedience. It’s my one good quality.

I don’t pay attention on the way to Langdon’s office. I blindly follow, just like Venable wants. Just like I’m expected to do. I will masquerade as one of her underlings however long is required of me. That’s what I have to think - that’s what I have to believe in doing. Because maybe, if I’m careful, I can leave - I can see what  _ new world _ awaits me at the sanctuary.

Venable pushes me inside once we arrive, and then promptly leaves me with  _ him _ . Langdon. He’s typing away at his laptop, ignoring me entirely. I stand politely, not moving until told, not doing anything I’m not supposed to do.

After a few moments, he glances back at me before going right back to whatever is on his computer. “You can sit, you know,” he says, and then begins to ignore me again.

So I follow instructions. I sit in the chair right in front of his desk, somehow feeling so vulnerable and  _ watched _ even while he isn’t looking at me. I don’t know what to make of it.

I feel like I sit there for hours before he very suddenly shuts the laptop and looks to me. He leans forward, elbows on his desk to keep him steady. “You are wildly patient, (Y/N).”

I nod, not knowing if he expects a verbal response to that. Langdon leans back in his chair - I hadn’t even noticed he’d been so close to me before. He smirks, his expression seeming almost all-knowing.

“I do apologize for keeping you waiting, but I don’t think I could be blamed for doing something else with your time when you felt the need to do something else mine.”

I feel myself shrink back into the seat.

“I expect punctuality from everyone here. You’re not excluded. Do you understand?”

I nod, but the simple motion isn’t enough. “Use your words, (Y/N).”

“Yes, I understand.” My throat feels like it hasn’t seen liquid in a thousand years. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Good. Then I’ll preface everything I’m about to ask with this - don’t lie. You don’t need any more instruction or incentive than that, do you?”

I nod. He smirks again, like he knows something I don’t. Like we’re playing a game, and he’s winning.  
“ _Good_.”

I shiver at the emphasis that oozes from the word.

“Are you bored here, (Y/N)?”

I blink. That wasn’t a question I was expecting. “I suppose so.”

He gives a quiet chuckle. “You suppose, hm?”

“I think anyone would be bored in a place where there’s nothing to do.”

Langdon looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “I  _ suppose _ you’re right.” He stands from his chair and begins to pace away from me. “Tell me, what was your favorite subject in school?”

It seems like such a trivial question on the surface, but I know whatever he’s asking me must be important. He doesn’t want basic facts from Facebook - he wants to pick me apart.

“Math,” I answer.

Langdon stops pacing immediately. “You know, I didn’t have formal schooling.” He turns to me, facing me from across the room. “But I think I would have liked some type of literature class the best. Do you know why, (Y/N)?”

I can’t guess where this is going, and I can feel my heart begin to race as fear really starts to set in. I shake my head at him.  _ No _ . The eyebrow raises once more.

“No, I don’t know why.”

I’m as careful as I can be when talking to him. I don’t want to show a single fault in my words. 

“Because art is the best way to get into someone’s head. To understand how they think. You can do it with visual arts, as well - probably even performances. But words lay it out for you, simple and plain as day. A writer bares their soul through their fiction, and if you pay attention you can read it as easily as the story.”

I slowly nod. “So. . . you like getting into people’s heads.”

He smiles, and I almost take it to be genuine at first before remembering where I am. “Exactly, (Y/N). So why do you like math, of all things?”

I shrug. “It’s easy. Systematic. Its laws make sense to me.”

Without hesitation, he says, “It’s something to follow.”

I stare at him in confusion. “I don’t think I understand.”

He starts moving towards me, filled with a sudden enthusiasm. “Why do you follow Venable’s rules, (Y/N)?”

I cower in my chair a little, startled by the energy he’s showing. “I don’t think there’s a particular reason. Why wouldn’t I?”

He smirks at me again. He can’t seem to stop. “Nobody else does. Everyone here is stealing someone else’s cube when they aren’t looking. They’re sneaking kisses and fucks in corridors and closets. They’re late to cocktails.  _ They don’t care _ .  _ I don’t care _ . So why are you so eager to follow such meaningless rules and procedures?”

I open my mouth, but for a moment I can’t make any words come out. “I- I guess it’s just-”

“Easy,” he finishes, and I nod. “Easy. Maybe not just easy, though. Maybe it’s required.”

“I don’t underst-”

“You need direction, (Y/N). Steps. Procedures. Rules, and punishments.”

“Does that matter?” I ask.

Langdon moves closer to me, squatting in front of the chair and cradling my face in his hands. “It matters more than anything else you could have possibly revealed to me.”

I watch him with wide eyes. He narrows his own at me. “What’s wrong?”

_ “Don’t lie _ .”

“I’m scared,” I admit.

“Of what?”

I feel my heart beat even faster. “You.”

He immediately stands, my face cold where his hands leave it. He once again walks to the other end of the room, and I watch him as he does, unable to take my eyes off of him. “Who bought your ticket here, (Y/N)?”

The sudden change of topic scares me more.

“My parents.”

He nods, looking to the ground. “You’re young. How old, exactly?”

“Nineteen,” I say.

I pause for a moment. 

“Maybe.”

I haven’t kept track of dates or time. I never listened to Venable’s mentionings of it, and it’s not like it would have mattered anyway. Nobody thought to bring a fucking calendar with them.

“Did they get tickets, your parents?”

I feel tears prick at my eyes, but I hold them back. “No.”

“It must be hard, being all alone and in a new place.”

I just nod.

“Stop nodding at everything I say,” he says, and his voice has gone completely cold. He looks more than just annoyed or angry, he looks. . .  _ furious. _ What’s wrong with the tilt of a head? “You’re so. . .”

“So what?”

Langdon pauses.

“Why do you spend all your time in the library?”

I look over at him in surprise. He never leaves this office - how could he possibly know where I’ve been spending my time? “I don’t-”

“Don’t lie, (Y/N).”

I find myself shaking at his words. “It’s easier than trying to socialize with people who hate me.”

Langdon stares at me, and there’s actual emotion in his face - but I can’t tell what it is or what he’s thinking. “You really are alone,” he whispers.

He comes close again, this time sitting on the desk in front of me. “Tell me, (Y/N), the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

I know it in a heartbeat. I can hear the singular word coming from my lips, but I don’t say it. I can’t.

_ You won’t tell anyone, right? You’re such a good girl. _

“I don’t want to discuss it,” I mumble, my eyes finding Langdon’s shoes. I can’t look him in the eyes with the thoughts in my head.

“Alright. Then tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

I know this one, too. And I hate that it’s the easier one to admit.

“I killed someone,” I whisper, and I shudder at the sharp inhale that comes from Langdon.

“The interview has concluded. You may leave now.”

My mouth nearly drops. It doesn’t feel like I’ve given him what he wanted. It doesn’t even feel like that was a full interview. I gape at him. “But-”

“You may leave,” he repeats, his voice almost abrasive. I have to go.

I nod and I leave his office, my entire body trembling. I know it must be close to dinner by now, but I don’t head to the dining room. Instead, I go back to my room. I need a minute in privacy to digest  _ whatever _ just happened.

I slam and lock the door as soon as I’m inside, not caring who hears. I sit on my bed and put a hand over my pulse as I feel it start to calm down, finally.

_ What kind of an interview was that? _

I just told Langdon my darkest secret - I killed someone. Even though I didn’t give him details, I know what I did. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t hesitate. I’m a  _ killer _ and Langdon just made me admit to it.

_ You knew what the other option was. _

I think about the other parts of the conversation - I remember how his hands felt on my cheeks. I move my own hands there now, mimicking his position. They created a warmth inside me I didn’t know was possible. Some desire - maybe sexual, maybe not. 

No, no I know what it was. I just don’t want to admit it.

_ Who can blame you for that? _

I lied about one thing in that entire interview. Langdon was a terror, sure. But once he laid his hands on me, that didn’t matter anymore. I wasn’t scared of just him anymore. I couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving me at that moment, and that sudden attachment made me shake with fear. That kind of  _ want _ had only even been a possibility once before.

_ “You need direction.” _

I needed to forget that interview ever happened. What had he gained in terms of material for his selection? That I was a lonely little orphan with a follower complex? Why would that  _ matter _ ?

_ “It matters more than anything you could have possibly revealed to me.” _

Why?

But he also learned that I was a murderer. That I had secrets. That I was  _ weak _ . My honesty, forced or not, had made me pay the price - I wasn’t ever going to see his glorious sanctuary.

There’s a sudden insistent knocking at the door. “(Y/N), you will unlock this door and come down for dinner this instant. We will not wait for you any longer. And one less dish served tonight means it serves another tomorrow.” Venable’s cane is all I can hear as she walks away. I think of that disgusting little vitamin cube, and it’s the only reason I can force myself to stand and leave the room. I might as well keep myself alive.

Dinner, of course, is boring and isolating. The table talks a bit, but I’m not included. I’m so much younger than everyone here, so seemingly different. I can’t connect with any of them - and they don’t bother trying to connect with me.

A gray gets called away for an interview during dinner. There’s an eagerness in his eyes. I suppose to them the sanctuary could mean everything. No more system where they exist on the bottom, scrubbing floors and feeding us vegan jello.

I wish I could share the gratitude they have for that chance.

I excuse myself before anyone else. I move on autopilot as I change for the night. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to wonder. The interview is done. My chance is gone, and I’m not sure I wanted it in the first place. 

_ “You’re so. . .” _

_ What am I, Langdon? _

That’s another thing that bothers me. He’s seeing something I’m not seeing. It could be potential - or it could be a threat. It could be a future - or it could be a liability. That shakes me more than anything, and I try to get my mind off the topic. 

But Langdon doesn’t leave me entirely. His face is all I see as I try to fall asleep that night. His voice, repeating questions and phrases from our interview, is all I hear. I can even almost  _ smell _ him if I think hard enough.

I’m scared. I’m confused. But I know where I want to be, and it’s next to this man that I hardly know. This man that  _ scares _ me.

_ I’m not going to hurt you. _

I sit up, startled. I look around. That was Langdon’s voice, but. . . was it just in my head? I wait to see if I can hear anything, but it’s entirely silent. It could have just been my imagination. I’m tired, frightened, lonely, hungry. My mind is caving for the day. So, without a second thought, I roll over and start to drift into sleep.

Right before I’m completely gone, though, I can’t help but notice how a new wave of calm has washed over me. I don’t even know when it hit, but my nerves and anxiety are settled. I can really  _ rest. _

_ Goodnight. _


	2. Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A debt / an ally / a memory. Nightmares aren't just dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just some notes I didn't think to put last time. Obviously, this story diverts from canon, but some particular things are that this story occurs only three months after being at the outpost, not eighteen, and that will be the gateway for a lot of other changes in the canon. You can always ask questions if you're confused, but for the most part, if something is different, go with it! Nothing should be too harmful I think - the witches will be coming into play later on, as well as other elements from the original season. Hope you guys enjoy!

_ “Miss, can you give us a brief description of what it was like?” _

I wake up, tears already streaming down my face. The fears I had then and the fears I have now come to the surface, screaming with the need to devour me whole. I can’t let them. Panic overwhelms me, and I find myself digging into my nightstand to find my medicine. One other thing I brought with me - the last anxiety medication I would ever get again.

There are only two doses left, and I go ahead and down one. Nightmares from the past are always a bitch.

I don’t know what time it is. I don’t know where I have to be. I only have two appointments every day, and I don’t even know when I’m -  _ I was?  _ \- supposed to be there. But today, in particular, I don’t care.

I’m not getting into Langdon’s sanctuary - I know that now. If I couldn’t fully admit it yesterday, today I can. So where’s the point in rules? In punishments? I’ll do as I please in what little time I have left. I dress in leggings and a t-shirt from the bag.

If Venable has a problem, she can put it right up her ass with the stick that already resides there.

But right as I’m about to pull the door open, I consider what I’m doing. This isn’t really what I want to do, and I know it. I don’t want to break rules. I don’t want to be punished. I don’t want even more negative attention from those around me. They all hate me enough.

So I slip off the leggings and the shirt, standing in nothing but my underwear. I take my precious time folding them, meticulously smoothing every wrinkle. I pack them back into my bag, but I freeze when I finally  _ look _ at the contents. I hate these things as much as I love them, and the contrast catches me unaware.

But I don’t look for long. I stuff the items back inside and zip it up, unwilling to pull out more of my past than my dreams already brought me. I head over to the armoire to find a dress to wear and hear a knock at my door. Just as I’m about to tell whoever it is that I’ll be out in a moment, I hear the door open anyways.

“Venable said- Oh will you stop that?”

Mr. Gallant stares at my cowering form from his spot in the doorway. I’ve tried to cover myself as much as possible, despite my parts being covered already by clothing. He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m literally the gayest person you will ever know, so that’s not even slightly necessary.”

I eye him. “Will you close the door at least?”

He sighs like it inconveniences him, but closes the door behind him as he fully enters the room. I slowly lower my arms to my sides.“As I was saying, Venable wanted me to make sure you were actually on time for once. I can see that it was clearly going to be an issue, had I not come,” he says, his ego coming out towards the end.

“Great,” I respond, sarcasm dripping. “Can I get dressed now?”

Gallant eyes my hair, dread evident in his gaze. “I’m not gonna lie - it physically pains me to think of you going out with that  _ mop  _ on your head.”

“I’ll brush it.”

He shakes his head, lips pursed. “No, no. Get dressed. We’re going to go fix it.”

“Really, that’s not necessary-”  
“Shut up.”

I stare at him for a moment before giving up and grabbing something to put on. Gallant doesn’t bother to help any as I struggle with the weight of the fabric, giving dramatic inhales and exhales as he waits. When I’m finally ready to go, he leaves quickly, apparently expecting me to follow.

Against my better judgment, I do. He takes me back to his room, not speaking the whole way. When we get there, he plops me down in a chair and starts rummaging through his supplies.

“I’m going to do something simple,” he states. “I can’t have Coco knowing I’ve used my precious supplies on someone else’s hair.”

“Right.” Gallant cut me a look at my tone.

“This is a gift, (Y/N). Treat it as one.”

I scoff. “I’m surprised you even know my name,” I tell him.

He looks fed-up when he responds. “And I’m surprised you have a voice. What else is new?”

I sigh and he goes to work on my hair. I hear scissors chopping away at the bottom, cutting off dead ends. Gallant keeps making small noises - probably out of disbelief for the wreckage that is my hair. I know that it must’ve gotten pretty bad, but it may be worse than I thought. It’s been so long since I looked in a mirror.

I feel snips in an odd place. “Are you layering it?”

“Uh. . . yes?”

“Well, stop!”

“Too late now, hun.”

Silence.

“How did your interview go with hottie Langdon yesterday?”

I’m not dumb - Gallant just wants to know the chances of another spot being filled.

“Who can really tell with him?” I answer.

Gallant laughs. “Well, just between you and me, I think I’ve got a good chance. He seemed really  _ into  _ the interview if you know what I mean.” He leaves my hair for a moment to get something else before returning. “You know, I keep feeling like I recognize you from somewhere, but I just can’t put my finger on it. You’re not famous or anything, right?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t think so, but you certainly give off that diva vibe.”

I feel my eyebrows raise. “Diva vibe?”

Gallant makes an “mhm” noise. “You make my bitch sense tingle, truly. Although now that I’ve started to talk to you, I have to say - you aren’t  _ that _ bad.”

I roll my eyes. “Nice to know I’m up to your standards.”

“You certainly have more character than Coco, who  _ is _ an actual diva. But we’ll just have to see. Maybe you could attend one of our little sleepovers and get to know everyone.”

“Everyone?” I ask.

Gallant laughs. “Well, everyone who matters.”

I snort. Gallant spritzes something - probably hairspray, I guess - and goes to spin me around. I reach out a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” I plead. “I don’t want to see.”

He looks at me with surprise. “I literally just did a masterpiece right on top of your head, and  _ you don’t want to see _ ?”

I shake my head. I don’t. Gallant looks at me, outright offended. “Fine, whatever. I can’t believe I was really just starting to like you,” he says, but I can hear an edge of teasing in his tone, and I can’t resist a slight smile.

“Off to cocktails, then?”

Gallant shakes his head. “No, no you missed those.”

I gasp. “Tell me I didn’t. Tell me I did not.”

He nods, “You totally did. We’re going to dinner, diva.”

“Why hasn’t Venable made me into stew yet?”

“Because she sent me to fetch you earlier and I managed to convince her you had a migraine.”

I narrow my eyes. “You. . . covered for me?”

“You owe me, alright? And if she decides to scrub you down, it’s not on me. Now let’s go before we’re both the broth.”

I nod and he leads the way out of his room to the dining hall. When we arrive we’re on time, but everyone else is already seated. Venable cuts us a look.

“Get seated - now,” she commands, but her tone and voice are quieted. She doesn’t want to be heard. I take notice of the fact that she’s sitting alongside the rest of us, rather than sitting at the head of the table. 

Something’s wrong.

Once Gallant and I are seated, I start to realize that everyone is tense - I turn to Venable, trying to make my confusion evident. She purses her lips at me. “Had you been here earlier, you would know that we have the  _ honor _ of being joined by Mr. Langdon tonight. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.” It sounds like she’s trying to force venom out of her mouth.

I bet she thinks this is another interview - and personally, I don’t think she’s wrong.

“Really, Venable, where would be the fun in that?”

We all turn in our chairs to see Langdon entering the room. The corners of his mouth lift, but the energy coming off of him doesn’t match anything I would call a smile.

He takes his place at the head of the table, and the grays start passing out plates. When Langdon receives his, he squints. “Is this really what you’ve all been eating since you got here?” He looks around the table, expecting an answer. At first, nobody responds. They look at him and then at each other - I see them as cutthroats, daring anyone to answer and try to appease the almighty Langdon.

Coco sees her chance and takes it. “Yes! It’s just disgusting, isn’t it? I thought that if we were all paying that much money to get into this Victorian shithole, we’d at least get some decent food, right?”

Langdon gives about as full of a smile as he can without showing his teeth. He turns to Venable, his glee falling into his words. “Did you hear that, Ms. Venable? What a  _ glorious _ establishment you’re running.”

I look over to see the full weight of what she just said hit Coco. “I- I didn’t mean Victorian shithole, I just meant-”

“No, Coco’s right.” Gallant sits up straighter next to me, confidence showing. “This place  _ is _ a shithole. We eat squares once a day and drink mineral water. We’ve been condemned to the life of a millennial vegan against our own wills - and we have to play dress-up while we’re doing it!”

Everyone starts chiming in with their own versions of his statement, all amounting to one thing; everyone really does  _ hate _ it here. And with Langdon in the room, they’ve all suddenly gained the balls to say so. I don’t bother with my own opinion of how this has all turned out. Despite the time I spent with Gallant, I still don’t believe there’s a single person in the room who would want to know how I feel about it.

I dig my fork and knife into my cube, plopping pieces into my mouth as they jibber jabber over one another. I look up at one point to see Langdon staring only at me, his piercing eyes capturing me. I hear my fork drop. I look away and bend over to pick it up.

His voice cuts through everyone else’s. “(Y/N), what about you?”

I glance up from the floor, startled at the inclusion. This time, I really can’t force myself away from his eyes. “What?” I ask, a little breathless. The room has gone completely silent, and I know they’re all staring at me.

“How do you feel about your time here? Be honest.”

_ Don’t lie. _

I glance over the table. How  _ do _ I feel about all this? My eyes stop on Venable. She’s the outlier tonight. Her own vision is trained on her uneaten vitamin square, and her cheeks and blushed with embarrassment. She hasn’t been talking, and for an obvious reason - she’s the woman under attack.

I meet Langdon’s gaze again. “I think little is expected of us, and we should be grateful for what we’re given.” My answer is concrete, no trace of hesitancy in my voice. I’m sure of what I’ve said, but I know that this won’t help my popularity. 

The last couple of hours have been a blur, but the startling difference in how my short day began and what it just became is clear - I am once again seemingly vying for the position of teacher’s pet.

Do I think Venable’s rules are dumb? Sometimes, probably. But if you hadn’t thought to bring clothes, you had them. If you didn’t bring food, you were fed. We were alive, which was more than most of the Earth could say.

Langdon smiles, this time with a genuine energy coming from it. “Gratitude can be an important virtue.” He sweeps his eyes across everyone, making direct contact with one person before passing onto another. “It’s something you all could learn to develop.” He turns back to me. “(Y/N), come see me in my office when you’re through.” He gets up, sweeping his uneaten cube to the floor. The plate makes a loud noise, making everyone jump - except Venable.

She’s focused entirely on me now. I can see tears in her eyes - I don’t know whether it stems from my alliance with her or the conversation that caused it. Somewhere, though, she’s seeing something in me. Just like Langdon. Just like Gallant.

I don’t think they’re all seeing the same thing. 

Without a second thought, I abandon what’s left of my dinner and follow the same path as Langdon, ignoring the gazes that still rest upon me.

“Wait!”

I turn back to find Gallant out of his seat. “(Y/N),” he says, sounding almost hesitant, “Please, be careful.” He glances to where Langdon had disappeared, and the back to me. “I don’t think you should go.”

I don’t bother responding. Gallant never showed interest in me until tonight. I don’t know what’s the cause for the sudden care, but I’m not taking it. He can shove it. He’s probably just upset that he wasn’t the one invited back to Langdon’s office.

When I reach it, the doors are pushed open enough to go ahead and squeeze through. He’s just sitting down, getting comfortable. When he sees me, he smirks. I try to be sick of the goddamn expression, but I can’t bring myself to be.

“Close the door,” he says, and it feels like a command. I can sense a sudden tingle at the thought - I don’t even  _ want  _ to explore what  _ that  _ means.

I do as he says and turn back to him. Now that I’m here, I realize I have no clue what this man wants. He nods to the chair I sat in yesterday. “Sit.”

I follow my given instructions, making myself as prim and proper as I can be in front of him. I feel the need to be perfect around him. “Your hair is different,” he notes.

Not the conversation I was expecting, but  _ okay. _

“Mr. Gallant cut it before dinner.”

Langdon snickers. “You think that’s all he did?”

I frown, embarrassment blooming in my chest. “I wasn’t paying much attention-”

“No offense, (Y/N), but your hair was a mess.”

I feel my mouth gape a bit - I’m left without a response. Langdon just laughs again. “At least Gallant is good for something. It looks nice, really.”

“Why am I here?”

The joking energy dissipates. Langdon’s crystal eyes turn to stone. “For someone who talks big on gratitude, maybe you should learn to take a compliment.” My back goes rigid. The way he just flicked off his kindness terrifies me. He narrows his eyes, standing from his chair and walking around the desk until he reaches me. I watch him every step of the way, too afraid to take my eyes off of him. He bends down beside me until we’re eye to eye. “Take the compliment, (Y/N).”

It’s then I realize that what he’s asking me to do isn’t a suggestion.

“Thank you,” I breathe out.

“For?”

“For saying my hair looks nice.”

And then he smiles. Like that exchange didn’t just happen. “You’re so easy to talk to,” he whispers, and I feel something inside me flutter like I’ve just escaped something terrible.

“You should trust me, (Y/N), instead of asking questions.” Langdon walks back to his chair, plopping down in it once more. “After all, I’m here to be your savior, am I not?”

I nod my head, still stiff with fear. 

“Answer me verbally.”

“Yes.”

Langdon gives a little nod mimicking mine, but it looks more as if it’s to himself. “I had predicted correctly about how you would respond to that little conversation at the dinner table,” he tells me. “I figured you would gain something either way though.”

I feel my forehead crinkle in response. “What do you mean?”

“Tonight, you successfully got Venable off your ass and made up for missing her precious cocktail hour. If you had said something different though, something along the lines of everyone else in the room, you would have ended up gaining their trust rather than Venable’s.”

My mind races with questions. I go with one and stick the others aside. “How did you know about today?”

Langdon looks to his hand, picking at a cuticle. “It’s a small outpost, I guess.”

I don’t buy his remark - there’s more that he’s not telling me. But I don’t think I’ll be able to force it out of him, so I move on. “Why would having Venable’s trust matter?”

Langdon’s gaze moves up, but his eyes are seeing something outside of this room. “ _ Matter _ . That word has been coming into the conversation a lot, I feel.”

“The conversation?”

“All the conversations. Every single one in this outpost. You ask so many questions.” His eyes finally settle on me. They captivate me a little more every time I see them. “Do you think you matter, (Y/N)?”

_ You’re pathetic. Do you think they’re out there, looking for you? You know why you came with me that day? Because you already knew you were just a pathetic little slut who didn’t matter to anyone. _

_ Don’t lie. _

“Who does?” I answer.

Langdon puts his feet up on his desk, crossing them. “I do,” he responds, and I can tell he’s completely serious. “And I know I’m right.”

“How so?”

“I take it back. You don’t just ask  _ so  _ many questions. You ask  _ too _ many questions.” Sometimes, I don’t know how to shut up.

“I wanted to talk to you tonight so I could tell you about what happened while your depressed ass was still sleeping up in your room.” I feel myself grow rigid again, not even realizing that I had begun to relax. He’s become coarse, hard, but it almost seems as if I’m seeing more of him than I do when he’s formal and polite. “Gallant may have ‘covered’ for you, but I’m the one who convinced Venable it would be a bad idea to have you made into tonight’s dinner.” He takes his legs off the table and leans over it, elbows on the wood and head atop his hands.

“You owe me your life right now, (Y/N).”

My stomach twists. That isn’t a debt I ever wanted to acquire. The people I owe something to is adding up by the hour.

Michael makes a noise from the bottom of his throat - it’s supposed to be a chuckle, but I only hear a sound solidifying my fate as forever indebted to a man I hardly know. A life indebted to a man who I can’t detest no matter how hard I try, but that I do, without a doubt, fear to my core. I feel my hands start to sweat as they grip the arms of the chair.

“You gaining Venable’s trust just means that she won’t try to go behind my back and disobey the rules of our deal - which is a severe convenience to me.”

“If I hadn’t gained her trust and she did go behind your back, you’d just let me die?”

Langdon frowns. “If that were true, I would have let you die today.”

I feel goosebumps on my skin. I only now truly understand the grip that this man has on my life. One hundred million dollars to escape a certain death, only to be met with a new twist on the hands of fate - a twenty-something with a penchant for black leather.

“There’s something about you, (Y/N). There’s a past, there’s a darkness.”

Langdon pauses, considering me in my anxious state.

“I know you, and I just don’t know from where yet.”

My breathing quickens. Gallant said the same thing earlier. They both know, and they just don’t know that they do. But I don’t want them to know. I don’t want any of them to know.

“I’m a nobody from a rich family,” I lie. “Maybe you just remember seeing my name on your little outpost list.”

“You just got defensive.”

My heart is pounding, and I feel the beginnings of sweat running down my back.

_ There’s no need to be so defensive, sweetheart. _

“I want to go back to my room now, Mr. Langdon.”

I hear his sharp inhale more than anything else. My vision has red at the edges. I can feel the panic attack coming over me.

“Then go.”

I don’t hesitate, moving to the door as quickly as I can without tripping over myself or straight out running. Right when I reach the door, I feel as if I can’t even move.

“It’s Michael, (Y/N). But that stays between us.”

And then it’s like I’m released. I store that question for later, too, and run away like the coward I am.


End file.
